


Maybe I Was Born with You Inside Me

by planetcleer



Series: queer poets (eventually) in love [4]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: FTM Tyler, LITERALLY, M/M, Tattoos, Trans Character, i am such tra sh, more like a bunch of timestamps, this is entirely fluff, this series isn't even linear anymore sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetcleer/pseuds/planetcleer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to get matching tattoos,” Tyler says one day.</p><p>“We already have matching tattoos.” But it isn’t an objection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe I Was Born with You Inside Me

**Author's Note:**

> hmm yes more of this
> 
> title and tyler's tattoo were written by tyler knott gregson
> 
> that dude is a fuckin madman, son. his poems are breathtaking. go read some.

“I want to get matching tattoos,” Tyler says one day, sitting upside down on the couch and idly playing with the band on his finger. He twists it, runs the pad of his thumb over the curling design on the outside, pops it off and drags the tip of his nail over the inscription on the inside.

Josh watches with a sunny smile that reminds Tyler of popsicles melting down the side of his hand, laying in the warm grass and looking up at the clouds, running down the street in a downpour and hitting every puddle on the way, “We already have matching tattoos.” But it isn’t an objection.

Tyler thinks about all the times he’s nosed at the ‘X’ behind Josh’s ear, all the times Josh’s fingers traced the same ‘X’ on his bicep, and hums thoughtfully, “Yeah, but I mean--... Not actually matching, I guess. Tattoos for one another. More permanent than a ring.”

“Aw, c’mon, is the ring not good enough for you?”

That draws a laugh from Tyler, a playful glare, “You’re an idiot, Josh. I’m being serious!”

“I know, I know,” Josh grins back, moves over to sit beside Tyler on the couch, “Alright, okay, I’m listening, babe.”

///

Basically, what goes down is so sickeningly cute that Pete does a lot of pretending to throw up when he first hears about it. Instead of matching tattoos, they decide that each of them is going to handwrite a tattoo for the other and neither can look at the tattoo they’re getting until it’s done.

Tyler thinks about it a lot, while he writes poems or lyrics, while in the shower, while he’s eating a bowl of Trix or a quesarito from Taco Bell. He spends two solid weeks trying to find the words he wants, failing miserably like he usually does when trying to find words for Joshua Dun that mean as much as he does, and then ends up waking up in the middle of the night with an epiphany.

It doesn’t take Josh as long, but he also doesn’t write it himself. As much as he wants to, he hasn’t ever been happy with anything he’s written for Tyler because it never feels like he’s actually doing him any justice, so he uses a line from one of Tyler’s favorite poems instead.

They go in late on a Monday morning.

 _I will give you all my pieces_ , scrawled in the most legible form of Tyler’s chicken scratch across the inside of Josh’s right wrist. Josh traces the words with his eyes a thousand times, stares at the space ‘you’ occupies between two curving veins, feels his heart swell each time he catches the ink out of the corner of his eye. Tyler lets his fingers linger there when they’re curled around each other on the couch, nuzzles his nose against the ink gently when Josh cups his cheek, brushes their wrists against one another more often when they hold hands.

 _Maybe you are all the wild in me_ , wound around the inside of Tyler’s left wrist in handwriting that makes him feel like home. Tyler decides he likes the way the tattoo looks with hazy morning light dripping over it, presses two fingers it and smiles when he can feel his pulse beating warm beneath the ink, spends an entire day trying to describe its meaning in a poem. Josh graces it with soft grazes of his lips, murmurs the words under his breath whenever he reads them, gently takes Tyler by the wrist sometimes just to feel the raised skin under his own.

///

“Excuse me, Mr. Joseph?” A young teenage girl approaches them after a poetry slam one night, smiles all sheepishly as if she’s nervous. Josh knows Tyler is a huge role model for queer kids, knows he’s a huge role model for kids with some sort of mental illness, and thinks she’s probably there to thank one of them. Probably Tyler.

As well known as they’ve become in the world of spoken word, it’s still incredible to think that they mean that much to some people just because of their poetry.

“I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done. It’s probably weird, but your poetry has helped me out a lot and there are a lot of things I wouldn’t have been able to do without you,” The girl shifts, cheeks pink, and looks almost like she wants to cry. Josh wants to give her a hug.

“I… Thank you. That really means a lot to me,” Tyler says after a moment, and his cheeks are pink, too, “I didn’t really have too many people to support me growing up, not with this, so, you know, I’m happy that I can be that kind of person for other people. I want to be, anyway. It’s important.”

They talk for a few more minutes until she excuses herself and starts to step away, but before she can turn fully she looks back at them, “Can I--Can I ask what your tattoos mean? The ones on your wrists.”

Tyler’s hand subconsciously goes to his left wrist, fingers lightly curling around it, and then glances over at Josh with a private sort of smile, “Well…”

“They represent us, really,” Josh says after a moment, gaze finding the girl again, “And the poems we always had inside of us that we couldn’t ever write before. That’s what they represent.”

The girl disappears into the crowd with a ‘thank you’ and a wide smile, leaving Josh to reach over and take Tyler’s left hand in his right one. He leans in for a kiss, but stops when he notices how Tyler is trying his very best to hide laughter, “What?”

“The poems we always had inside of us that we couldn’t ever write before?” Tyler parrots back, ridiculous little giggles escaping him, “You sound like a John Green character.”

“We’re poets!” Josh tries to defend himself and then just gives up, face flushing even as he pulls Tyler closer, “Oh, shut the fuck up, Joseph.”

Tyler just continues to laugh, but appeases Josh a moment later with a lingering kiss, “You know I love you, dork.”

Though he tries to stay angry, Josh can’t help but smile back, “I know.”


End file.
